


Talking over Tea

by peppermintquartz



Series: Loki and Thor [10]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Thor (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Granny Advice, Relationship Advice, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki travels between the realms to find one person who has defeated the faerie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking over Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the middle of _In Silence_ , just after Thor visits Jane and before Loki escapes Stark Tower.  
> This is the moment the plan comes together in Loki's mind.

Stories are more real than reality.

Loki knows this to be a fact: is he not a story as well, a story of a god who played tricks and then brought death and destruction? And now he is here, writing a new chapter of a different story, here with Thor.

Thor is out to see _her._ It is a fact that bites, gnaws, sinks its bitter venomous fangs into Loki's heart. He cannot remove her. He cannot erase her. He cannot _kill her_. If he does, he knows that he loses Thor also.

There are many stories of Loki – he has seen them on the Internet, a vast construct made by feeble human minds to attempt to map and archive all the knowledge in their puny world. But Loki isn't looking for stories of himself now, fascinating as the tale of Sleipnir may be.

He looks for tales of Faerie.

The first few stories that come up are twee and trite and nonsensical; Loki does not do more than cast a cursory glance. And then he sees something that echoes as the truth, like the face of a bride through many veils.

Loki knows the paths well to travel between worlds, and he carefully opens the portal to the old lady who has fought the Faerie – and won.

 

 

He first observes her through a small puddle of water. It is a lovely land, old and aged and brimming with the power of tales and belief – a belief in itself, in the people that shaped it, and in this land belief is _everything_. Loki inhales and releases the cool mountain air. It is colder than he expected, but not yet as cold as Jotunheim. Nothing is as cold as Jotunheim.

The old woman reaches for something above her door, puts it on the table, sits in her chair and stares directly at Loki who is studying her. She says, “I knows you are looking, and it's not good manners. I don't reckon you means me harm, lad, but if you try this again you'll feel the back of my boot. If you wants to talk, come and see me, and mind your shoes.”

Her voice ripples and the puddle suddenly boils off into nothing.

Loki jerks back and blinks.

Then he smiles.

She is definitely a witch.

 

 

Loki knocks politely on the back door, and waits for the door to open in invitation before he steps in.

“Good,” says the old woman inside. “I like to see a young man who learns fast, and I like to see a young man treats his elders with respect. Without respect, you are nothing.”

He bows deeply and waits without saying a word.

She snorts. “Sit.”

He sits and regards her. She has the clearest sapphire eyes he has ever seen, even bluer than Thor's though hers might seem that way because of the direct and hard gaze. She studies him as well, two felines watching each other cautiously.

Finally she sits back in her chair. A white cat slinks out from behind a door and jumps easily into her lap, settling down with minimal fuss.

“You are not a young man at all, are you?” she says by way of acknowledgment. “And you may speak now. I don't like to play games with waiting, not at my age, and not today.”

“Good day, ma'am.”

“Mistress.”

“Mistress.” Loki waits for a name to be given, but there is none. He expects it. He smiles and cocked his head, adding, “Mistress Weatherwax. I am Loki, formerly of Asgard, formerly Odinson, and currently here seeking answers.”

She does not smile back. “Your name is too fussy,” she comments, then pats the cat on her rump, shooing her off. “We have a Hoki around, a trickster god of some kind. I suspects you may find him familiar. A cup of tea, perhaps?”

“I... would certainly like that.”

“I don't need you to like it,” she says waspishly. “But it's something we do to be polite.”

He frowns slightly then and then eases back in his chair. This is going to be harder than he thought.

 

 

After the first, intently silent cup of tea, she broaches the topic. “Why did you spy on me?”

“I wanted to know if you are as good as the stories say.”

“I am.” She barely smiles. “I've lived the stories.”

“Then I can ask a few questions of you.”

“Not if I don't feel like answering, young man.”

Loki narrows his eyes. “Man I am not.”

“But young.”

“I have lived for thousands of years.”

“But not learned enough to be patient,” says Mistress Weatherwax. She looks at him again. “I see you have been through much pain, and that is why I allows you to come and talk with me. No one will come to me unless they have good reasons to do so, and you might as well talk fast.”

Loki swallows his fury and seethes.

Weatherwax tilts her head. “You are angry. Good. Store up that anger, young Loki, until you have need of it, and then it is a well of power that no one can remove from you.”

“I did not come for you to give me advice about my anger,” snaps Loki.

“No, you came to ask about the lords and ladies.” Weatherwax smiles now, thin and all-knowing, and she touches the horseshoe on the table as she names them. “The faerie folk.”

Loki is flabbergasted. “How-”

“I listen.”

And in those two words Loki thinks about how he tracked the silver-shod unicorn; how he spoke with the trees and the fruit and the flowers and the leaves; he thinks of the few bees that buzzed about him earlier while he examined the standing stones.

“You are powerful,” he says at last, awed.

“Only as the land, and this is a strong land,” says Mistress Weatherwax. She raises a challenging eyebrow. “Now... Loki, tell me why you want to know about the faerie?”

“The faerie queen is my mother.” He is still bound by Odin's cursed spell; he can feel it creep along his veins. “I wish to know her better.”

Mistress Weatherwax smiles, a tad unkindly, but as she leans forward she asks, “And which of the faerie queens would you wish to know? For there are many, and all of them are the same. But if you have a name...”

“Titania. Her name is Titania.”

“Then you already know more than me,” says the witch and she folds her hands around her cup. “You are lucky that I feel like talking tonight. There is no need to seek them out. Loki, is it?”

“Loki, yes. Loki Silvertongue, Loki Gift-bringer, Loki the God of Mischief, of Fire and Ice, of Discord, Chaos and Destruction, Loki Kinslayer, Loki Betrayer, Loki the Unwanted, Loki the Half-breed.” The dark-haired sorcerer bristles with thinly veiled frustration. “Tell me what you know of them, now.”

“That is a lot of names.” The old witch meets his angry glare with a calm, steel-hard blue gaze.

Loki's nostrils flare slightly.

Mistress Weatherwax studies him a beat longer and says, “They are unkind, foolish creatures, selfish beyond measure, and colder than the coldest winter you can imagine. They never learn, and they never change. They goes sideways through life and that means they value nothing, you understand? She will not value you, whatever you may be, and all your magic will be no help to you when you see her, because you'll be caught up in whatever glamor she throws at you.” She sniffs. “You want so desperately to be loved, and she will use that against you. She will kill you and all you love, because it will amuse her. Being loved isn't always the best thing, do you understand? Someone as powerful as you are, you must have been able to learn something. Learn this now.”

Stunned by the barrage of information that Mistress Weatherwax was hurling at him, Loki stares at her face. Finally he swallows and says, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” she snaps, and then something yields in her, “because you have a wish in your mind to belong. But as long as you are who you are, you cannot be what you yearn to be.”

“You can tell all that just from looking at me?”

“Yes.” There is no arrogance in her tone; it is a statement, a factual account of what she is capable of. Mistress Weatherwax locks eyes with the god, sapphire against emerald. “You needs to sacrifice it all first. First you gives, then you gets. That's how the world works.”

Loki lowers his eyes. “I... I don't have much to give.”

“No, you do. You still have your names, and in your names you have history, and each name is a connection to someone or something.” The old witch pats his shoulder and stands up. “It is a difficult route, young man, but I’ve met the old boy and his scythe a few times, and I’ve known him to smile and cheat sometimes. He will play along - I'll be sure to convince him.”

Loki stands also, a courtesy ingrained from Asgardian days, and bows. Mistress Weatherwax regards him and smiles thinly.

“It's a good thing you've caught me today,” she says at last as she sees him out. “I have an appointment tomorrow that I will not be able to miss, and it will be impossible to find me after that.”

As she closes the door and he makes his way towards the gate back to Midgard, he notices the neat rectangle that has been dug into the front yard, the ladder that leads down to the bottom, along with the headstone that is set to one side. Loki smiles faintly - Mistress Weatherwax is indeed a powerful witch.

 

 

It is almost too easy, after that visit, for Loki to formulate his plan.

Before he carries it out, he must have something to tie himself to the Midgardian plane. Then he can sever all his ties.

He will return to Asgard, to judgment, and to a new beginning.

He emerges in the bedroom just as Clint Barton mentions _her_ name.

_Give, and then get._ Loki exhales, and then blasts a hole out the wall.  _Here's to giving everything._

**Author's Note:**

> Granny might be a touch OOC though, but it's hard pinning her voice when you're not Sir Pterry.


End file.
